


of worth

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [112]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 03:12:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17593520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Claire and Jamie reflect on the loss of Ian. Inspired by 04x13





	of worth

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/182400861008/of-worth-a-04x13-one-shot) on tumblr

From somewhere high above the clearing, she watched it all happen.

Jamie striding to the chieftain, chin quivering, head held high.

Ian whispering with the warriors clustered to one side.

Roger, dazed, eyes darting from Jamie to Claire.

And herself, fallen on her knees, arms reaching for that which would never come.

The wails of agony must have been hers.

He had promised, damn him! He had promised they would never be parted again. That she would never be alone.

But that promise now held shades of grey – just like their vow to be honest with each other. Because their lives were different – more complex – now that Brianna was in it.

For the second time, Jamie willingly sacrificed himself for the love of their daughter.

Idly she wondered whether the Mohawk would let him keep the long leather coat that had belonged to his father. The coat that had somehow survived the Rising, and the Clearances, and years in a trunk at Lallybroch before the shipwreck in Georgia, the confusing time at River Run, and finally the months it had taken to build Fraser’s Ridge.

Would they shave his head like a warrior’s? Would they see the scar at the base of his skull?

Cold hands on hers – Roger. The buzz and burr of a Scottish voice in her ears – but the voice wasn’t Jamie’s.

Why the hell didn’t he look back? Was it his way of telling her that this time, there was no escape?

She thrashed against Roger. Elbowed him in the nose. Scrambled to her feet, lifted her skirts to run after Jamie.

“Claire!”

The hands restrained her.

“Let me go!”

“Claire!” the voice insisted. “Be still!”

A leg swooped beneath hers, and she crashed to the ground –

The solid, hardwood floor of their guest room at River Run. A tangle of bedclothes and naked Jamie beside her.

“Claire!” he hissed, hands locked on her arms, leg pinning hers to the floor. “Calm down!”

Blearily she blinked up at him, taking deep lungfuls of cool air.

“Hush,” he soothed, eyes locked on hers in the candlelight, thumbs tracing the soft, soft skin inside her elbows. “Dinna fash yerself. I am here.”

She swallowed a sob. Carefully he sat up and gathered her against his shoulder, skin to skin, murmuring nonsense words in Gaelic.

Footsteps thundered in the hallway. The door opened to reveal Murtagh, naked legs long and thin beneath his billowing nightshirt.

“Jamie?” Murtagh lifted a taper to peer into the room.

“*We’re all right, godfather,*” he replied quietly in Gaelic. “*Just a bad dream.*”

Murtagh huffed, then quietly closed the door. Jamie’s hands traced abstract shapes on Claire’s bare shoulderblades.

“You smell nice,” she whispered after a long while.

He kissed her temple. “I could say the same about *you*, Sassenach. A hot bath for the first time in half a year does wonders. But that would imply that I dinna like ye just the way ye are.”

She smiled, just a bit. Good.

“You and I both know that if you had stayed with the Mohawk, you couldn’t have escaped.” She kissed a bump on his collarbone. “I couldn’t have rescued you. Not this time.”

“I – ”

She sat up straight. Framed his face – delightfully clean-shaven – between her hands.

“I understand why you did it. I would have done the same thing. But am I selfish for being so grateful that we didn’t? That we still have each other?”

“No,” he breathed, not even needing to think. “No – that’s no’ selfish. But I would have – ”

“No.” She lay a finger on his lips. He kissed it. “We’re not young anymore. We have our family to think of. Our *grandson* to think of.”

When he smiled so wide like that, she flashed back to Lallybroch, and the idyll of their month there together in the early days of their marriage.

“Ian will be fine. He had half a foot in the Cherokee world already – he’ll settle in wi’ the Mohawk.” Jamie trailed his hands down her bare arms, twining his fingers with hers. “They will give him the space to become his own man, to build his own house – outside of anything we can provide.”

She brought one of their joined hands to his heart. “But this still hurts. Will always hurt.”

He nodded. “At least we know he’s alive, Claire. And Roger – weel. Roger will come.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, but I do. We are both MacKenzies, are we no’? He kens weel that I entrusted the care of you and Brianna to a man who knew Bree wasna his child. As does the lass herself. I think she loves her – her father more now, knowing what he knew. And Roger kens she will love him all the more for deciding to be like him, and to stay wi’ her and the bairn.”

“You’re awfully confident.”

His heart beat strong and sure beneath their hands. “I have faith. Tell me ye don’t?”

She squeezed his hands. Bent to kiss him. Then rested her forehead against his.

“Can I tell ye something?”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “Anything.”

He kissed her chin. “That was Jocasta’s room that Murtagh came from. In just his shirt.”

Claire pulled back, eyes wide, hand over her mouth.

Jamie narrowed his eyes, picked her up in one smooth motion, and threw her on the mattress, giggling like fools.


End file.
